ABSOLUTE POWER By: DAVID BALDACCI

body in front of Alan Richmond’s predecessor six years ago and caught

twin .38 caliber steel jackets for his trouble despite his body armor;

one through the shoulder, the other through the forearm. Miraculously,

neither had struck any vital organs or arteries, leaving Burton only

with a number of scars and the heartfelt gratitude of an entire country.

And, more important, the adulation of his fellow agents.

And that was why he had fired upon Christine Sullivan.

And he would do the same thing today. He would kill her, kill her as

often as it took. Pull the trigger, watch the one-hundred-sixty-grain

bullet slam into the side of the head at over twelve hundred feet per

second, the young life over. Her choice, not his. Dead.

He went back to work. While he still could.

CHIEF OF STAFF RuSSELL WALKED BRISKLY DOWN THE CORRIdor. She had just

finished briefing the President’s press secretary on the appropriate

spin for the Russia-Ukraine conflict. The bare politics of the matter

dictated backing Russia, but bare politics rarely controlled the

decision-making process in the Richmond administration. The Russian Bear

had all the intercontinental nuclear forces now, but Ukraine was in a

much better position to become a major trade player with the Western

countries. What had tipped the scales in Ukraine’s favor was the fact

that Walter Sullivan, the good and now grieving friend of the President,

was homing in on a major deal with that country. Sullivan and friends,

through various networks, had contributed approximately twelve million

dollars to Richmond’s campaign, and garnered him virtually every major

endorsement he needed in his quest for the Oval Office. There was no way

he could not make a significant payback on that kind of effect. Hence,

the United States would back Ukraine.

Russell looked at her watch, counting her blessings that there were

independent reasons for siding with Kiev over Moscow, although she felt

sure Richmond would have come out the same way regardless. He did not

forget loyalty. Favors must be returned. A President just happened to be

in a, position to return them on a massive, global scale. One major

problem out of the way, she settled down at the desk and turned her

attention to a growing list ‘of crises.

Fifteen minutes into her political juggling, Russell rose and slowly

walked over to the window. Life went on in Washington, much like it had

for two hundred years. Factions were scattered everywhere, pouring

money, massive intellects and established heavyweights into the business

of politics, which essentially meant screwing others before they got

around to screwing you. Russell understood that game, better than most.

She also loved and excelled at it.

This was clearly her element, and she was as happy as she’d been in

years. Being unmarried and childless had started to worry her. And then

Alan Richmond had come into her life. Made her see the possibility of

moving i to a level where no woman had up to the next level. Perhaps

ever gone. That thought weighed so powerfully inside her head that she

sometimes shook with anticipation.

And then a goddanined hunk of metal exploded in her face. Where was he?

Why hadn’t he come forward? He must, had to know what he had in his

possession. If it was money he wanted, she would pay it. The slush funds

at her disposal were more than adequate for even the most unreasonable

demands, and Russell expected the worst. That was one of the wonderful

things about the White House. No one really knew how much money it

actually took to run the place.

That was because so many agencies contributed parts of their I budget

and personnel to help the White House function.

With so much financial confusion, administrations rarely had to worry

about finding money for even the most outrageous purchases. No, Russell

thought to herself, money would be the least of her worries. She had

many others to concern herself with, however.

Did the man know that the President was totally oblivious to the

situation? That was what was tearing Russell’s stomach apart. What if

he tried to communicate with the President directly, and not with her?

She started to shake, and plopped down in a chair by the window.

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